futurology | text | un; sieglindesullivan

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text | un; sieglindesullivan

This is Sieglinde Sullivan, the Green Witch.

I shall not waste my time or yours with much pleasantries. The situation is dire, as you know.

Several of our number have been working tirelessly to develop a vaccine to this virus, and hopefully a cure.

Tests of the vaccine are proceeding smoothly, and we have seen positive results so far- it may be available within one or two weeks time if all continues to go well and no adverse effects present themselves.

I cannot guarantee nor estimate potential cures, and it is not my intent to elevate your hopes, but know that we have several leads we are exploring. Samples of blood, particularly from those of the non-humans within our ranks who are or may be immune to the virus, are much needed at this time if you have not already been solicited.

To protect against the possibility of contamination, four of us have set up in separate locations.

Urahara Kisuke, in the hospital laboratories. Peter Parker, in the university laboratories. Sonia Nevermind, at her apartment residence, 20B of Woodhurst Court. I myself have relocated from the hospital to a residential office, at 45 Pinehurst Drive.

Samples or supplies are welcome there. The others may speak for themselves, but in my case, I will not tolerate any distractions or intrusions, so please do not abuse the knowledge of that address.

[ooc; just a note from some of the Team Science members so that characters can have a better IC idea of what's going down on that front! Stay tuned for more OOC and IC info on/near the 25th!]

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( he follows the instruction, leaving the bags he'd found on the counter. none of it is fresh or especially delicious. it was food, though, and easy to make; much better than nothing.

that dealt with, for now, he turns back to Sieglinde. he places a hand on her shoulder, a slight cast to his features. )

What is going on, Sieglinde? There's something, isn't there.

[Was it so obvious?

She had truly hoped that she could pass her pale face and red eyes off as the consequence of little sleep or rest, that her behavior was not so indicative of anything in particular...

But perhaps, heartless of not... she has known Graham a long time now. Longer than anyone else left on the team, even.]

... Patroclus is dead.

[She tries to say it steady, separate the emotion, make a report.

Tries.]

( is it so bad that he can tell? they've known each other for a long time. long enough that even a heartless man can track her reactions, at least enough to tell when they're unusual. he's certainly seen her upset before, he knows the signs.

and yet there's no relish in being right that something is bothering her. his shoulders level, and he closes his eyes. it's the first he's ever heard of a member of their team losing their life on a mission, and that it was someone so close to those that mattered to him... it still hurts, somehow. heart or no.

his hand lands on her shoulder, eyes opening and landing on her face. he has nothing to say. perhaps there is nothing that can be said. he can't bring back the person he's mourning, all he has in his arsenal is to remind her she hasn't lost everyone yet. what a slim comfort that can be.

Sieglinde has shown herself to have little fondness for embraces, but he does it anyway. putting an arm around her and holding her near, wishing he knew even a glimmer of what to say, to ease her pain. he doesn't, he never does. )

[There are so many reasons she doesn't like hugs, and rarely initiates them- particularly these days. What had befallen most of those she has embraced in her life but ill fortune, injuries, deaths, and transfers away from her side. It looked so weak and childish, surely, like she was a weakling in want of soothing.

But most of all she dislikes them because they make it very difficult to be stoic. It is harder to be removed, to be the sort of Green Witch she desired to be, wise and mysterious, when the offer of comfort and contact makes it so easy to be just human- something she's always thought she wasn't allowed to be.

She tries to keep from letting go, but she just remembers Achilles' wails and anguish, remembers how kind Patroclus had been to her, how he had thrown himself into organizing a celebration for her sake, and how he had died alone... in part, because of her. Because Achilles had escorted her, the weak one, in the dangerous world of Woodhurst, and that had left Patroclus alone to be killed by overwhelming odds-

Slowly, her hands raise, fist in Graham's clothing. She'd had Achilles, but he was in no position to comfort anyone now. Jin and Asher meant well, but she couldn't do this sort of thing in front of them. She couldn't.

Couldn't cry, hiccuping into a soft sob into Graham's shoulder.]

( it's funny, how the girl so desperate to keep herself from being human, had been so instrumental in reminding him he still was. lacking a heart didn't seem to keep him from hurting when she did. didn't keep him from desperately wishing for a way to help her, and the numb knowledge there was nothing he could do. there was no magic cure to grief, there was no simple phrase that could turn off her torment.

he wanted better for her. he wanted more than the constant loss, the ever present struggle to be strong and capable, when she deserved a chance to just be the girl she was. he wanted it, wanted it enough it stung, and yet wanting was not the same as getting. the missions would not let her, their lives would not let her, in fact Graham has come to understand Sieglinde would rarely even let herself.

he can't change any of it, even if he wanted to. all he can give her is exactly what he is, as much as it raked at him to hear her cry, he had to hope it was some kind of comfort to finally let go. hope that there was some value in letting herself grieve. he held her close, cheek landing on her hair as his features winced at the sound of her tears. ) I'm sorry, Sieglinde. ( sorry meant so little, but he was. his tone was heavy with how much he meant it. )

[It's the fact that there's nothing at all that she or he could do about it that makes it worse. Nothing she could do would bring back the people precious to her who had transferred and left her here in Audentes. She couldn't do a thing to see Masamune again, or Arjuna, or Kida, or Gilgamesh. She couldn't do anything to cure the Ultimate Magic she had created when she was constantly forced to work towards ALASTAIR's goals instead.

And she couldn't do anything about the fact that Patroclus was dead.

Her tears are hot and bitter, everyone of them begrudged and hateful, but once she starts she cannot stop, (can't do anything about that either), her voice muffled in Graham's shirt.]

I could not do a thing- It was already too late-

[She, who had once decried Koltira's claims of resurrection, who regarded such a thing as akin to unholy black magic and said that it should not be allowed, had even turned to the elf for aid when it came to people she actually cared about dying, her own hypocrisy laid bare.]

It was too late even for Koltira-

( it's an uneasy task, to try and comfort a girl over the death of someone she cared about when he's already died and somehow is still living, still existing, and has no idea how. why would ALASTAIR choose to save him, let him live again, and let another man fall? one that had already died before he'd even arrived, just as the huntsman himself had?

he doesn't have those answers. he doesn't have any answers. he hates the guilt she lays at her own feet, as if a girl her age should possibly be responsible for the life and death of a man surrounded by danger. it made no sense, yet he had no doubt it made perfect sense to Sieglinde. )

This wasn't your fault, Sieglinde.

( his grip seems unforgivingly tight on such a tiny frame, and maybe in a better moment he would realize that. they're not in a better moment. they're about as far from better as they can get. )

[It's too tight, but she doesn't care, because it feels half the time now as if she's falling apart, and at least in the circle of arms she knows that she physically cannot.

But she shakes her head against his shoulder, smearing her tears into his clothing, voice distorted by regret.]

It could have been my fault-

[Emotion leads her to want to say it was, wants to blame herself, as she is wont to, but even she knows that she could not account for what ifs.

But it could have been.]

Achilles was with me, because I am too weak to go out alone- If it were not for me, Patroclus might not have been alone-

[He might not have died. At least... not then. Not there. Not like that.]

( it surprises him very little that Sieglinde would blame herself. he's known her so long, he's seen her do it before. he's not sure there's convincing her otherwise, and certainly not now when the wound is so fresh.

it still hurts to hear, even if is more or less expected. )

No. It wasn't your fault. You head could make it your fault in a million different ways, but that won't make it true. ( it could not rest on the shoulders of a girl, the guilt of a man's death, the weight of a cure, all of it and more. )

Do not blame yourself for something beyond your control.

[It isn't what she wants to hear, it isn't the pins and knives of blame that she's been slowly sinking in to her own flesh during the quiet times, in the dark, when she's alone and isn't drowning out those thoughts with the simple logistics of work, of taking care of Achilles.]

It could have been-

[Maybe Patroclus would still have died if Achilles had been with him in that instance. Maybe Achilles would have died instead, or with him. Maybe neither of them would have.

She couldn't know, and she knows it, but.

That doesn't make it better. Or easier.]

( he doesn't answer this time, though she might feel the slight shake of his head in refusal at her insistence. could have been, might have been, should have been — none of them could change what was. as much as they dwelled and wondered and worried, it would change nothing.

he couldn't take away her pain, nor convince her of what she was set on believing. all he could do is remind her that she did not face her loss alone. it was a paltry offering, yes, but it was all he had. and he would stay as long as she needed, perhaps a little longer still.

Graham was no expert on grief, nor supporting those that he cared about. he was still determined to try. for what it was worth, he'd be there. as long as she wanted. )

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wrap here? or on yours?

wrap here cries it out on graham